


50 Beats

by bbcsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 50 things, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockian/pseuds/bbcsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes went on a case without John, which nearly got him killed.</p><p>He counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	50 Beats

It could have been complicated, messy, demanding of an explanation. It is, in fact, alarmingly simple: I went on a case without John, and nearly got myself killed in the process.

I open the door into our flat and a ticking starts deep within the hollow cavern of my chest, keeping pace and grounding me in a place swarming with adrenaline and nervousness. I can’t help but count it.

 _One._ John’s eyes flick to mine and I see immediate elation which is badly covered by-

 _Two._ -anger, rage, hurt. The thankfulness is clear in the curve of his eyebrows but the routine clenching of his jaw sparks something dark in my throat.

 _Three._ The calmness before his inevitable storm envelops me, us. The darkness in the flat swarms closer until all I can see is a pinprick of light, directly at the back of my skull.

 _Four._ Neither of us will glance away and neither of us will speak.

_Five._

_Six._

_Seven._

I am certain that John can hear my heartbeat from his deceptive position of calmness in his chair.

 _Eight._ His newspaper falls softly from his hands and rests on the carpet, bent open on a page littered with bad puns and images of anguished footballers.

 _Nine._ He places his fingers on the edges of the armrests and-

 _Ten._ -stands abruptly. His feet are firmly planted on the ground and his hands do not shake. He had a sandwich with chicken and lettuce and mayonnaise for lunch. His eyes look like murder. They are looking at me.

 _Eleven._ He crosses the short distance between us easily and his fist collides smoothy with my cheek.

 _Twelve._ My skull connects with the door frame behind me and the pinprick of light is engulfed in a sea of white starlight.

 _Thirteen._ I am-

 _Fourteen._ -swaying slightly on my-

 _Fifteen._ -feet and when I reach-

 _Sixteen._ -back to seek the wall for support there-

 _Seventeen._ -is nothing there but-

 _Eighteen._ -space.

 _Nineteen._ I realise he had pulled me further into the room _(Thirteen. His hands retreat from my face and clench as if to hit again. Fourteen. But something stops him and they- Fifteen. -slide gently back to his sides before reaching up again to- Sixteen. -grasp at the lapels of my coat and drag. Seventeen. My feet stumble as he strains to leave me in the sea of nothingness that is our living room carpet. I find I can breathe again)_.

 _Twenty._ We realise at the same moment that our chests are no more than five centimeters from each other.

 _Twenty one._ We realise at the same moment that neither one of us is willing to step apart.

_Twenty two._

_Twenty three._

_Twenty four._

Nobody breathes.

 _Twenty five._ “You could-

 _Twenty six._ -have died.” He says as he brushes his thumb over a section of my face that will surely be bruised tomorrow.

 _Twenty seven._ It appears he has forgotten to move his hand away.

 _Twenty eight._ I do not remind him.

 _Twenty nine._ “Yes,” I say simply. The word is uttered softer and with a darker intent than I thought.

 _Thirty._ I see his throat bob (once, twice) as he swallows.

 _Thirty one._ His head moves infinitely and minutely closer and I see him coming forward in a sense of perpetual motion in which he is forever getting nearer and never arriving and I want to pull away and I want to pull him closer and I don’t know what to do with my hands.

 _Thirty two._ I am breathing his air (impossible to gain any respirational benefit from inhaling somebody’s useless carbon dioxide of course but my body is pretending that’s it’s actually oxygen that only I can breathe which is perhaps why I am becoming increasingly lightheaded).

 _Thirty three._ He is breathing my air. We would die if we did this forever, but maybe we were always destined to end this way.

 _Thirty four._ His head jolts and begins to pull back before he even reaches me, which I can’t possibly allow to happen so-

 _Thirty five._ -my mouth chases his and suddenly we are kissing.

_Thirty six._

_Thirty seven._

_Thirty eight._

_Thirty nine._

The only point of contact is our lips and it’s glorious.

 _Forty._ I think I should nearly die more often.

 _Forty one._ I think this is the most tender kiss I have ever participated in.

 _Forty two._ I think I never want us to end.

 _Forty three._ He pulls back slowly and our lips click slightly as they part.

 _Forty four._ My cheek is stinging and he moves his mouth across my face to press it gently against the abrasion.

 _Forty five._ His lips move lower, under my jaw and-

 _Forty six._ -into the hollow behind my ear.

 _Forty seven._ He presses his face into my hair and his hands dig almost painfully into my shoulders, forcing me into his embrace.

 _Forty eight._ I can feel him shaking; at first I think that it’s laughter but when I hear the hitch in his voice I realise that it is not.

 _Forty nine._ “I’m sorry, I never should have-- I thought I had lost you.” He says.

_Fifty._

“You never will.” I say.


End file.
